Death in Zanzibar Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the country they can go ahead with tracing the guy who did the job. Simple.’
    â€˜But suppose they do find me?’ said Dany, twisting her hands together distressfully. ‘Mr Honeywood may have told someone I was coming down. And I telephoned him. I was going down in the afternoon, but I wanted to go to a film, so I telephoned and asked him if I could come in the morning instead. They might trace the call because I telephoned from here. And — and I left a handkerchief in Mr Honeywood’s office. It had my initials on it.’
    â€˜You what? ’ said Mr Holden, unable to credit it. ‘You’re telling me that you actually pulled that corny old gag? Good grief! Women! ’
    â€˜You don’t suppose I did it on purpose, do you?’ retorted Dany hotly. ‘And anyway, how was I to know that this sort of — of awful thing was going to happen? How could anyone know? People oughtn’t to keep valuable things in safes in their houses and then leave their safes open and — and ____ ’ Her lips began to tremble.
    â€˜Hey!’ said Mr Holden, appalled. ‘Don’t cry. I can handle anything else — well, almost anything else. But not tears. Not at this hour of the day, there’s a good girl. Here, let me lend you a handkerchief — unmonogrammed!’
    He handed one over, and Dany accepted it with a dismal sniff. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized, blowing her nose. ‘It was only because I’m so worried, and it’s all so — so fantastic and impossible and horrid. Mr Honeywood being murdered, and then finding that gun wrapped up in one of my scarves, and — and not knowing what to do. What am I going to do?’
    â€˜Nothing!’ said Mr Holden firmly. ‘Masterly inactivity is my advice. It may be regrettably short on Public Spirit, but right now it looks like saving you a helluva headache. We’ll make a nice tidy parcel of that gun, address it to Scotland Yard and drop it in the nearest post box. And you can spend your air trip in writing them a full account of your visit to this guy Honeycomb, and post it in Nairobi: allowing it to be supposed that you missed reading the newspapers today on account of one little thing and another. Not strictly truthful, but a labour-saving device if ever there was one. That should satisfy both your conscience and cops. O.K.?’
    â€˜O.K.,’ agreed Dany with a breath of relief and a somewhat watery smile.
    â€˜Good,’ said Mr Holden briskly. ‘Then that’s fixed.’
    He stood up, reached for the gun, and having carefully cleaned off all possible fingerprints with his handkerchief, wrapped it in the crumpled square of linen and stuffed it into his pocket.
    â€˜And now I’m afraid I must leave you. I have to go out gunning for a secretary-typist. Mine, believe it or not, has contracted mumps. Mumps — I ask you! There ought to be a law against it. See you at the airport, babe.’
    He collected his dressing-gown and Asbestos, and departed.

3
    Dany sighed and stood up. She still felt badly shaken, but at least she was no longer frightened, for Lash Holden’s casual attitude towards the whole horrifying affair had reduced it to manageable proportions.
    She was not, she assured herself, obstructing the course of justice by keeping silent. Any information that the gun might convey to the police would be theirs by tomorrow morning. And as far as the details of her visit to Mr Honeywood were concerned, she would tell them that too; but, as Lash Holden had sensibly suggested, by letter. Probably by the time they received it the murderer would have been caught; and if not, at least she would be with Lorraine and Tyson, who could support her story and deal adequately with the police.
    Dany closed the drawer in which she had found the gun, and having repaired the ravages caused by tears and Mr Holden’s handkerchief, reached for the lizard-skin bag.